Chapter 2 - The First Wave
Rajat’s death was only the beginning.
His wife, Neha, barely left their dimly lit apartment in Lower Parel, clutching a faded photo of her late husband. She refused food and water. When her fever spiked on the third day, she still muttered his name between shivering breaths. By the time neighbors forced their way in, she was unconscious, her lips cracked and her skin pale. Her six-year-old daughter, Riya, was curled beside her, sobbing softly. It didn’t take long for Riya to fall ill, too.
Across the city, in the heart of Dharavi, sanitation worker Pankaj Verma pushed his battered broom through the crowded streets. The stench of rotting food, urine, and sweat clung to the humid air. He barely noticed the dizziness creeping over him until his legs buckled. When he vomited on the pavement, he saw flecks of red. By the time his coworkers rushed him to KEM Hospital, he was unconscious.
By the end of the week, the hospital overflowed with patients exhibiting similar symptoms—high fever, blood clotting, internal bleeding, and terrifying neurological distress. Dr. Leena Mehra, a senior infectious disease specialist, had seen outbreaks before. She had worked through dengue, chikungunya, even the early days of the Nipah scare. But this was different.
The first body she examined was Rajat’s. His organs had shut down within forty-eight hours, his blood thickened with clotting, his brain swollen. Then came Neha. Then Riya. Pankaj Verma succumbed soon after. The virus showed no mercy. Patients arrived with shaking limbs, disoriented and frightened. By the second week, 300 cases had been reported, with over 150 deaths. It was ruthless.
The media caught wind of it quickly. Grim headlines screamed from newspaper stands: MYSTERY FEVER CLAIMS DOZENS and UNSTOPPABLE VIRUS GRIPS MUMBAI. A reporter at Mumbai Chronicle dubbed it "The Crimson Plague"—a nod to the grotesque hemorrhagic symptoms and rapid internal bleeding. Panic followed.
The Indian Council of Medical Research (ICMR) issued an urgent advisory, instructing hospitals to isolate suspected cases. The National Institute of Virology (NIV), Pune, worked around the clock, sequencing the virus's genome. Dr. Aakash Banerjee, one of India’s top virologists, pored over the sequences, his eyes burning from the fluorescent glare of the lab. The results were chilling.
The virus bore similarities to enteroviruses but had undergone mutations that made it uniquely resilient. Unlike respiratory pandemics, this pathogen did not settle in the lungs. Instead, it infiltrated the bloodstream, attacking the endothelial linings of blood vessels. The resulting clotting caused organ failure at an alarming rate. Traditional antiviral treatments had no effect.
On the outskirts of Mumbai, a dedicated team at the Virus Unit in Kolkata studied new samples. Dr. Ananya Roy, an epidemiologist with experience tracking deadly pathogens, ran simulations predicting the spread. Every scenario ended in catastrophe. With a reproductive number estimated at 3.5—higher than SARS—the virus was already outpacing containment efforts.
Authorities scrambled to respond. The Mumbai Municipal Corporation ordered deep sanitation of railway stations, especially at Chhatrapati Shivaji Terminus (CST), where Pankaj had unknowingly cleaned contaminated vomit. Screening checkpoints were set up at major transit hubs. It was too late.
The virus had already slipped through the city’s fingers.
Infected passengers boarded long-haul trains to Chennai, Delhi, and Kolkata. Flight records later revealed that asymptomatic carriers had departed for Dubai, Singapore, and London. The virus was no longer just India’s problem.
The world had no idea what was coming.
In Singapore, at Tan Tock Seng Hospital, a businessman returning from Mumbai collapsed at immigration. His nose bled onto the marble floor. In Dubai, a flight attendant from an inbound Air India flight suffered a seizure mid-shift. In London, a 28-year-old tourist was rushed to St. Thomas’ Hospital after vomiting blood in a crowded café.
Back in Mumbai, Dr. Leena Mehra stared at the hospital monitors as another patient flatlined. The virus wasn’t slowing. If anything, it was accelerating.
The first wave had begun.
SURBHI SINHA